


Esc

by gertrudeabernathy



Series: Keyboard [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Derek, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gertrudeabernathy/pseuds/gertrudeabernathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is fine, everyONE is fine. Even Boyd is probably fine, even though he is still in there, but Alison says he is tied to a wooden chair with a pissy rope and could be up and fighting anytime he wants. And Stiles is fine, he escaped by himself, didn't he? He is a bit upset about a few things, and perhaps if they could get his heart rate under 180 that would be good, and Derek is fine and totally not switching between panicking and having a pornographic vision Stiles of spitting on his dick or anything gross and completely inappropriate like that...</p><p>OK. So not FINE, exactly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Esc

This round, it would have been hard to make the case that Stiles hadn’t needed rescuing. It looked more like he had desperately needed them to break him out of there an hour ago, but had been forced to DIY his own escape, once Alison had distracted the visiting hunters by paying them a “friendly” professional visit. Derek was troubled by a gnawing ache in his stomach, but he wasn’t sure what it was about: guilt because Boyd was still in there, tied inadequately to a crappy chair apparently, or guilt because Stiles had tried to fight, and had lost, as predicted.

Derek, Scott and Stiles were in a deserted carpark behind an auto parts store, a mile away from the factory the hunters were unimaginatively using as a base. Scott was trying to check Stiles’ injuries and simultaneously trying to count this as a win, as technically, he had made it out of the factory on his own.

“That guy in there is an even worse fucking psycho than Alison’s grandfather, just so we’re clear.” Stiles was panting and giving the odd grunt of pain, or possibly irritation, as Scott pulled up his t-shirt to look at his ribs and the marks from where his latest kidnapper had seen fit to tase him, twice. “You think I’d be getting used to - ow! that hurts, Scott. Be careful, will you?” 

“I’m not sure if that rib is badly bruised or broken, dude, and if it even MIGHT be cracked, we really need to take you to the hospital.” 

"We aren't going to the hospital just to find out! They just tape ribs anyway, right? It's doesn't feel great, but you can't die from a cracked rib, can you? If we go, your mum will want to know what happened, for sure." 

Derek leaned on the side of the jeep. “I think I can tell if it’s just bruised, but it'll hurt. A lot.”

Stiles glared at him and spat, “Yeah, but how long will it take? Because anything is preferable to Scott poking at me for another hour!” Scott nodded to Derek, changed places with him and held up Stiles’ forearm, while Derek ran his finger slow and hard along the blackest bruise on the boy’s side, feeling and listening for give in the bone. Stiles clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, and his forehead shone with sweat as he tried hard not to cry out, and failed spectacularly.

“I'm done.” Stiles opened his eyes to see a paper-white, shamefaced Derek looking away and drying his palms on his shirt as he spoke. “The rib is good, I think. Sorry.”

“No,” and Stiles wiped his mouth with a shaking hand and struggled to be reasonable. “I’m sorry - thanks, both of you, I know you are trying to help. It’s possible I may not be in the best mood ever right now.” 

“You got out though!” said Scott encouragingly. “And what does the other guy look like?”

“He looks unmarked and huge and forty and fit and really fast and insane, Scotty. I’ve got a split lip, haven’t I?” and he look at the little smear of blood on his sleeve. “Fuck.”

Derek watched Stiles brush the sweat out of his eyes with the other sleeve. “At least I am pretty sure your cheekbone is OK, or I don’t think you could touch your face like that at all.” And he tilted the jeep mirror so that Stiles, ducking his head, saw the effect of his split lip and bruised mouth and the spectacular graze on his cheek. Derek was completely unprepared for Stiles’ reaction - he gasped in horror and reeled back into Scott. Derek caught and held him above his elbow, with no clear intention except to steady him, as he murmured, “Oh god, look at me.” The anger that had sustained him leached out of his face, leaving him ashen. “What am I going to do now? What will I DO?” he wailed.

“About what? Those taser burns will take longer to heal than your face,” Derek said quietly. “And that graze won't leave a permanent scar.”

“Unless it doesn't leave one by tomorrow morning, that ISN’T GOING TO HELP, is it?” 

“It’s his Dad,“ said Scott quietly. “He is going to want an explanation. Stiles can’t hide his face.”

“You’ll work out something to tell him. You always do.”

Stiles stared at Derek and his face worked. “You don’t get it.” He had started shaking, and was holding onto Derek's shirt to stand up. “I don’t WANT to work out what LIE to tell my poor Dad who is ALL I HAVE in the world, all right?"

"Take it easy. Lacrosse practice usually works, doesn't it?" offered Scott.

"Scott, do you really think my FATHER the POLICE OFFICER doesn't remember what day practice is on? And that isn't - I -“ he took a huge rough breath and winced, reaching for his bruised side - “The other day, I was standing there in the kitchen looking him right in the eye and lying my head off, and I know he knew.”

“That is why you were... the other day.” Derek dropped his face and looked away.

“WHAT were you?” said Scott, confused. “And when?”

\-----

Stiles was still sitting on the little back porch stairs of the old house when Derek came back from checking on the other training pairs. He was looking off into the middle distance, unfocused, and didn’t even shift his weight when the alpha walked up and stared at him. 

“Not training today?”

“Nope.”

“Sick?”

Stiles just looked at him, then away, back out to the tree line.

“Did I - ?”

“Nothing to do with you.”

“Then - what?” he asked, making Stiles flinch.

“It’s all right. Just not a good day for running around.” said Stiles. 

“Why?”

“It’s nothing.” He shrugged and straightened up. “I’m fine.”

“You look…” Derek was squinted at him. “You look sad.”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow. “I. Look sad. To you.”

“Yeah. Why are you - ?”

”I’m fine. How is training going?” 

“Stop being annoying. Talk.” 

“Oh. My. God. Just - sit down and let it alone.” Stiles dropped his head into his hands, and muttered at the ground. “Please tell me you can do that.”

“Let what alone?” Derek sat down beside him, looking out into the woods. He waited a long minute, then turned and stared interrogatively at Stiles, who rolled his eyes in exasperation. “All I want to do is sit here quietly. Is that POSSible? Remember the thousand times you have told me to shut up, and suddenly it’s not allowed?”

There was a long pause.

“Stiles, when you are this quiet, I feel like something terrible is about to happen.”

“See, I start to think you are trying to be nice to me, but, no surprises, I'm wrong, and you're being an asshole.” Stiles rubbed his hand over his face and braced himself on the stair as if he were about to get up. 

Derek shifted his weight and moved closer, so that he was leaning lightly on Stiles’ side. “All right. No talking then.” And he put his arm around Stiles’ hard shoulders. 

“Oh.” Stiles froze in surprise, till the weight and warmth and closeness started to seep through his shirts. “Right. OK. Good.” He could feel Derek’s slow and steady breath against his side. “This much - touching - is new.” 

“Relax, will you? Your heart rate is making me nervous.” Derek tugged him a little closer and Stiles let go a little, leaning in. “You’re allowed to breathe.” It took a while, but finally Stiles tilted his head until his temple rested lightly against Derek’s jaw. 

“Why are you… this is different, you know?” 

Derek’s voice was soft, but they were close enough that it still rumbled through Stiles’ chest. “You don’t usually look this miserable. And I can’t be banging your head on things all the time.”

“OK then.” And Stiles sighed and stayed put, leaning into him. The light slipped further away and the woods loomed almost black across the grass. The sky darkened and a few stars tentatively showed out. Stiles’ breathing was so slow that listening for it, Derek felt as if he were slipping into a trance state himself. In the woods and in the grass, new insects made new noises. He knew that in Stiles’ vision, the world was turning monochromatic blue. He had never known Stiles be so quiet for so long, and if he hadn't heard approaching voices, he would never have wanted to break their silence.

“I don’t know if you can hear them or not but the others are coming,” said Derek very quietly, “and I also don’t know if you are in the mood for them to be giving you shit about me.” He took his arm back but left his thigh pressed along the length of Stiles’. 

The sensor-operated porch light came on as Jackson rounded the corner of the house, closely followed by the rest of the young wolves and Allison. Jackson skidded to a theatrical halt and stared at them. “Were you two making out?”

Stiles stood up and brushed his hands down the front of his jeans, and said completely calmly, “Go fuck yourself, Jackson. Scotty, Allison - you want a lift home?” 

Scott frowned a little and nodded for both of them. Allison’s cheeks were glowing with the exercise in the evening air, and her crossbow was slung across her back. Stiles smiled at her. “Did you get to shoot Erica?” 

“Only a couple of scratches. Her reflexes are ridiculous.” Allison and Erica grinned appreciatively at one another. “Her accuracy is ridiculous too. That was awesome,” said Erica, scuffing politely at the ground. 

“’Night, then, guys.” Stiles linked his arm through Allison’s and headed for the turn-in on the other side of the house. He looked back over his shoulder and caught Derek’s raised hand and smiled and dropped his eyes, letting Allison pull him along companionably.

Jackson’s gaze switched back and forth suspiciously.

“Seriously, Derek. Were you?” 

“Go fuck yourself, Jackson.” But the alpha pounced on him and got an arm around his throat and gave him a fairly gentle noogie-rub on top of his stupid rigid hair, which inexplicably made Jackson laugh aloud before he remembered to be pissy. 

\-----

“He was sad, at training,” said Derek.

“YOU are talking about Stiles’ - feelings, now.” Scott would have spent more time emphasizing his disbelief for Derek, except that Stiles was, at that moment, starting to freak out.

“Yes Scott, HE fucking is. And,” Stiles shook his head violently, apparently refusing some unheard suggestion as vehemently as possible, “if I have to start lying my head off again tomorrow morning - Derek - you don’t have to look at his face when he starts imagining all these terrible things I could be doing that would make me lie to him, and he looks like I’ve betrayed him and he’s trying to look suspicious - " Derek noticed that Stiles' hand where he was holding him up was very cold in his - "but really I can see him thinking ‘I’ve lost him’ and then he looks so alone, oh god, poor Dad - "

Scott said, "Stiles - hey - it's OK!"

"It's really, really NOT OK, Scott - I AM a liar, don't you get it? He is RIGHT - but I can't bear him looking at me like that, I'm making him even fucking sadder and I seriously can’t stand it, and I'm kind of losing my mind here, oh shit...” and his legs gave way under him and he was panting way too hard, hyperventilating, and falling forward into Derek’s arms, almost completely out of control. Scott kept one hand on his back and Derek lowered them all to sit on the ground, leaning on the jeep and holding Stiles’ bruised face against his shoulder as carefully as possible. His eyes met Scott’s.

“Hey,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ forehead. “I'm prepared to trust your father. We can tell him the truth - everything - tonight if you want. I'm going to go show him why you’ve had to lie. Right, Scott?”

Stiles jerked hard in Derek’s arms. “No - you can’t do that!” He was trying to sit up and it wasn't quite happening, and then he was coughing and coughing and trying to grab his side to hold himself together, and then he started to sob, partly from pain and partly from frustration and fatigue, and he was crying, and trying to stop, and failing, and Scott was rubbing his back, alarmed, and saying, “You have to try and calm yourself down, seriously.”

“I CAN'T, I can’t calm down till he promises not to -” and between sobs, he made an unexpected and awful sound, a muffled scream of frustration. “Why the FUCK can’t I stop crying?”

By now Derek was trying to hold him still. “Stiles - you're INJURED, remember? Stop trying to talk for a minute.”

Stiles abruptly forced his voice lower, but the effect was anything but calm. “Derek, you have to promise me you won’t tell him. His job - he thinks he has to protect everyone from everything. He is going to try to ARREST some - evil - thing and get killed. So.” Now Stiles had two tight handfuls of Derek’s shirt. “My Dad stays a civilian in this. Do you promise?” Derek and Scott looked at each other. “Don’t fucking look at Scott!” Stiles shouted. “Promise. Promise me. There is nothing else I want you to do for me, Derek. Don’t bring my dad into all this.”

Derek stared at Stiles, who was utterly beside himself. His eyes were huge and dark and wet with tears, and his scent was chaotic and distressing, all pain and fear and confusion and salt and heat. Derek realised with a sinking feeling that he would have to agree to pretty much anything Stiles asked for, while he was like this. 

“I promise,” he said, putting what he hoped was a soothing hand over Stiles’ heart which was banging wildly away, causing the veins to throb visibly in his throat and temple. “Whatever you say. Up to you, Stiles.” And Stiles said thickly, “Good, then,” and nodded, and then his eyes rolled back for a moment and closed and he fainted. Derek slipped a careful arm around his neck, so that his head fell back and his airway was straight and open. 

“Can you hear me? Are you OK?” Scott asked plaintively. He picked up one cold hand and started to rub it. 

“He’s out,” said Derek. At least like this, he thought, he can breathe, and his heart rate is curving down. “Have you ever seen him like this before?” he said very gently, almost as though Stiles had chosen to go to sleep in his arms.

“Once, maybe. I think when his mom died, his father had to deal with funeral stuff and he brought him over and left him with us, and Stiles was standing there in the hallway not moving, and Mom asked him if he wanted to ask her about anything. They went in the kitchen and I could hear them talking, then he was shouting and then Mom called me, and he was out cold like this. I asked if he was having a fit or something and she said, ‘No, he just has his limits, like anyone,’ and she sat there holding him until he woke up and started to apologise.” And the two wolves sat there on the asphalt, waiting.

And after few moments, Stiles was back, shifting and groaning, “Sorry. I…”

“Stiles! Take it easy.” Derek was stroking his forehead and his hair, and avoiding Scott’s gaze. “You passed out. Give it a minute.” 

“No no - you don’t - Boyd was in there!”

“We know, you told us before, remember? Stop!“ as Stiles struggled to sit up - “Allison is on it, she’ll call us. Just be still.” 

“Derek?” 

“Yeah?”

“Did I say anything weird, before?”

“You didn’t say anything, and you didn’t look like you were having a seizure to me, if that’s what you are worried about.”

“No - I - did I drool on you when I passed out?”

No, Stiles, I don’t think you did, thought Derek. If you want to know, when you passed out, your beautiful long thighs and your beautiful arms and your hands and your face went open and loose, and even your hard back was relaxed, and your mouth was crimson and wet with tears, and so were your eyelashes, and your lower lip had fresh blood on it and you didn’t mean to but you showed me the whole length of your throat and you sighed so hard, and if I hadn’t been completely terrified that you were going to stop breathing or go into convulsions or otherwise fuck up my peace of mind forever, and if Scott hadn’t been watching, I would have kissed your face and licked your neck and whispered into your wet skin that I am kind of obsessed with you and with your body, and that I probably love you, and that I will go into a ridiculous faint myself if we ever have five minutes without a crisis and you have time to tell me that you don’t actually hate me, and once we get Boyd back, and deal with this horseshit tonight, and once I know we are all safe, all I want is to go home and jerk off to the memory of your beautiful body all long and soft in my arms. And I feel even crazier than that sounds, because I have no idea what to do about you being so sad.

Derek saw the two of them staring at him curiously, and realised he had forgotten to say anything aloud. What had the question been? Drool. And he was assailed by a sudden mental image of Stiles, leaning over him and deliberately spitting wetly onto the head of Derek’s cock so he could blow him, a vision straight out of porn and his dreams, and he was panting but still not saying anything, was he? He had to answer. Right. Had Stiles drooled on him? 

“Nup.”

“OK then. Good.” Stiles looked relieved and closed his eyes, but when Derek looked up, Scott was staring at him, with a distinctly angry ‘WTF’ expression, and he felt his own face go hot, and he knew he was blushing hard, for the first time in as long as he could remember.


End file.
